


Is it a Secret if it's Mostly a Lie?

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Condoms, Dubious Consent, Hopeful Ending, Inadvisable Fashion Choices, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Night Stands, Past Child Abuse, Sibling Incest, Smut, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up the only son of <i>the</i> Shimada, crime lord of Hanamura, was incredibly lonely. Bodyguards could be good company, but Hanzo sometimes found himself longing for something a bit more wild-- not that he'd ever admit it. When he met a strange, green-haired boy at a club belonging to his father, he'd thought he could relax for only a moment. Unfortunately, neither of them ended up with the fond memories they'd been hoping for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simple Impulse

It was the kind of club Hanzo usually spent all of his time avoiding. Of course, he avoided all clubs, but this one was particularly seedy. Unfortunately, he was going to inherit it someday, and he figured that it might be best for him to be familiar with family assets. Even the _unsavory_ ones.

Men were crammed into every inch of the sweaty dance floor, most of them in various states of undress. Hanzo himself had conceded to his closest bodyguard, Takeshi, that his usual kyudo uniform wouldn’t allow him to blend in, so he’d dressed in jeans and a black tank top. It was just about the only “normal” clothing he owned.

“Try to relax, young master,” Takeshi said from Hanzo’s right. “There’s no reason not to enjoy yourself.” Hanzo snorted rather than dignify that with a response; his idea of enjoying himself had nothing to do with a club.

“Didn’t know they let _girls_ in here,” said a voice to his left, as close as Takeshi was. Hanzo’s head jerked around, hair fanning behind his shoulders at the sharp motion. He saw a man a little shorter than him, a little younger, with spiky hair that looked green under the club lighting.

Curling his lip, Hanzo said, “Who is a girl?” The stranger blinked up at him, took in the squareness of his jaw, and _laughed in his face._

“Sorry, sorry,” he placated, resting one hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. He was built more lithely than Hanzo, not that that was difficult considering how thick Hanzo’s shoulders were from archery. “Here, I’ll make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink!”

Takeshi was chuckling as Hanzo opened his mouth to protest, only to have the stranger shout at the bar behind him. “More whiskey, please and thank you!” Hanzo was doubtful that the man was old enough to drink, but the dubious legality of the club itself kept him from commenting.

The bartender slid two drinks towards them. He was a shrewd, middle aged man, and he was the only person in the bar besides Takeshi who knew who Hanzo was. “Thank your wallet,” he said with a huff.

Ignoring the bartender’s comment entirely, the strange man shoved one of the glasses into Hanzo’s hand. “Name’s Genji,” he said with a wink. “I haven’t seen you here before. Is this your first time?”

“Mine is Hanzo. And yes, it is,” Hanzo said cautiously, but Genji smiled genially at his answer. He didn’t seem at all inclined to take advantage, nor did it feel like he was planning something nefarious. Hanzo wasn’t used to people being so frank around him.

“I’d better help you out, in that case,” Genji said, friendly and familiar as if they’d known each other for years. “D’you have your eye on anyone in particular?” The blank look Hanzo gave him made the answer obvious.

Genji gave Hanzo an appraising up-and-down look, then smirked. “Wanna dance with me, then?” He offered. Hanzo had been halfway through a gulp of whiskey, and he choked on it rather abruptly. Laughing, Takeshi pointedly ignored his plight and didn’t offer help.

“Er,” Hanzo said, but before he could form a coherent excuse Genji was taking his drink, placing it on the bar, and dragging him into the disgusting crush of bodies. Takeshi didn’t follow, secure in the knowledge that Hanzo would be safe in his father’s club. Music pounded through Hanzo’s whole body, bass turned up so high he could feel it in his chest.

With a familiarity that left Hanzo tense and uncomfortable, Genji practically molded his body to Hanzo’s. His pants were nearly skin tight, and his shirt was _mesh,_ not even proper clothing. As close as they were, Hanzo couldn’t exactly get a clear look, but even the fact that Genji was the sort to leave so little to the imagination left Hanzo regretting having come.

He regretted it even more when Genji started dancing, in precisely the same way everyone else was dancing. Which mostly meant grinding, his hands on Hanzo’s hips and-- was he _gyrating?_ Hanzo wasn’t drunk enough for this.

However, the whiskey in his stomach and the beer he’d drunk with Takeshi immediately after arriving meant that he was a little tipsy. He insisted to himself that that was why his face felt like it was twenty degrees hotter than it should be. Genji’s suggestive dancing didn’t slow down, even when Hanzo simply stood there like an idiot for a minute solid.

Shouting over the music and what might have been moans somewhere nearby, Genji said, “Don’t worry, no one fucking cares if you can’t dance!” Hanzo winced despite the honest enthusiasm in Genji’s voice. If only the volume hadn’t been so damn _loud._

Then Genji reached up and looped his arms around Hanzo’s neck, bringing their faces close together. Thankfully he didn’t kiss Hanzo, instead leaned forwards until his breath brushed Hanzo’s ear. That close, he could afford to speak in a way that didn’t give Hanzo a headache.

“Let me buy you another drink, after this song,” breathed Genji. Goosebumps rose down Hanzo’s arms, and Genji clearly felt the shiver that followed, because he grinned wider.

And of _course_ Genji decided to get even more presumptuous with even the slightest hint of enjoyment on Hanzo’s part. He pushed his thigh between Hanzo’s legs in a movement that, for a disturbing moment, felt like something a fighter would do if he allowed them to get too close and they were trying to unbalance him. But the moment passed, and the feeling was replaced by the sudden realization that a stranger was _grinding a thigh into his crotch._

The scandalized expression on his face was highly undignified, but he couldn’t seem to wipe it off. It had been a long time since someone had touched him like that, and it was hard to think with the noise, the way he and Genji were jostled by the crowd, the eyes looking straight at him glinting gold in the dim room. Through the embarrassment, though, it felt _good._

Seemingly at random, Genji pulled him back towards the bar. Hanzo wondered how he knew when the song ended, because it hadn’t seemed like long at all, and while he glistened with sweat Genji didn’t exactly seem tired. “Two more!” He said to the bartender. “And fill them up for real this time, pretty please.”

Indulgently, the bartender filled two tumblers, handing them to Genji with familiar ease. Almost as soon as Genji passed Hanzo one he was knocking the drink back, swallowing a large mouthful. Hanzo abruptly realized that he had no idea where Takeshi was-- then realized he felt relieved, as more heat rose into his cheeks. “This is a terrible idea,” he said aloud.

“Maybe for _you,_ ” Genji shot back. “But I can hold my liquor.” The thinly veiled insult startled a laugh out of Hanzo; it was the sort of friendly challenge he hadn’t had in years. The last time someone had spoken to him like that, he’d been sixteen and in the habit of challenging others to archery contests.

They slid back onto the dance floor together, and this time Hanzo put his hands on Genji’s hips and rose one eyebrow, daring him to protest. But Genji only wove his fingers through Hanzo’s long hair, tugging softly, and rose an eyebrow back. It was a strange way to dance, lawless and base and strangely fun.

Another drink. Another dance. The world was well and truly blurring around him at that point, but he wouldn’t back down from a challenge. At least Genji was also clearly inebriated, his balance unsteady even if his dancing stayed smooth and sinuous.

It was strange, that someone could make something so uncouth look so graceful. Genji laughed, said, “Oh, I’m graceful?” It took a few seconds for Hanzo to realized he’d spoken aloud, and then he was flushing darker as Genji pulled on his hair.

“I think I’ve had enough,” Hanzo mumbled the next time Genji pulled him away from the rest of the clubgoers. But then he realized they were heading towards the doors, and he was left blinking in confusion.

“I have too,” Genji admitted, though he made it sound almost like a purr. The sound trailed down Hanzo’s spine like teasing fingertips, and he almost missed the next thing Genji said. “Wanna get out of here? I have somewhere we can go.”

There were very few enemies powerful enough to pose a threat to Hanzo within Hanamura, even drunk and vulnerable. His father’s men were everywhere and half the businesses secretly belonged to him. The reminder was comforting enough that Hanzo didn’t think twice before he nodded.

Genji led him to a sleek, black car in the tiny parking lot. It was self driving, which was great, because Hanzo was certain that both of them would have been a menace behind the wheel at the moment, and Hanzo didn’t have a license in the first place. “Get in the back,” Genji said, clearly expecting to be obeyed. “I’ll join you in a second.”

Shivering yet again, Hanzo did as he was told. He watched Genji’s long, graceful fingers tapped instructions into the dashboard’s display, and then Genji was turning to him, eeling his way between the front seats until he landed, neatly, in Hanzo’s lap. “Good boy,” Genji teased.

“Um,” Hanzo flushed at the praise, but once again found it difficult to speak around the sudden shortness of breath. Genji was a solid weight in his lap, muscular despite his lean build. “I don’t… do this often.”

“I figured,” murmured Genji. Against all odds he sounded _pleased,_ as if he liked a little bit of inexperience in his partners. _Not inexperience,_ Hanzo reminded himself, _prudence, because it’s not a good idea to--_

Warm, soft lips on his made it very difficult to remember what was and wasn’t a good idea. Aside from kissing back, which the alcohol in Hanzo’s blood made clear was a very, very good idea. Every other kiss Hanzo’d had had always been plagued with worries of bad breath or chapped lips, but they both tasted like whiskey and Genji licked his lips so sloppily his mind couldn’t very well focus on anything more than the sensation.

Shameful as it was, Hanzo liked the sloppiness of it, the drool sliding down his chin. Genji kissed him like he was planning on continuing until Hanzo passed out, which suddenly felt like a very real possibility. A lot of blood relocating, relatively fast-- Hanzo would have laughed if his mouth hadn’t been occupied.

Thighs clenching around Hanzo’s waist, Genji didn’t so much as shift an inch when the car turned around a sharp corner. It was almost a shame, because Hanzo’s jeans were increasingly uncomfortable. The seam was pressing into his cock, and it only got worse as Genji slid his hands into Hanzo’s tank top and completely ignored his obvious erection.

“You a musclehead or something?” Genji questioned, palming Hanzo’s pecs. The touch sent tingling down his spine, so it took him a moment to process what Genji had said.

Pulling back slightly, Hanzo gave Genji the most confused look he could, given that lust was making his lips slack. “Guess that’s a no,” Genji said, hands kneading Hanzo’s chest. He looked almost triumphant.

They broke apart as the car slid to a stop. Genji crawled out first, into a dark parking lot barely touched by pink signs above them. Was this a _love hotel?_ Hanzo blanched, some of the flush falling out of his cheeks, but Genji only rolled his eyes and grabbed Hanzo’s hand. He pulled him from the car easily, even when Hanzo stumbled on his wobbly legs.

“This place is not very dignified,” Hanzo said, sounding strangled. Rolling his eyes, Genji led him through a discreet side entrance. It was at least better than announcing to the world that they were here, but Hanzo’s father would undoubtedly know in the morning regardless.

Hanzo hung back, allowing Genji to pay at the desk. He tried to blame the alcohol for the way he obediently followed when Genji crooked a finger at him and led him to the elevator, but his dick had hardly softened at all from their time in the car. For better or worse, the elevator ride was brief, and then they were in a room with an _obscenely _large bed.__

__“Come here,” Genji said when Hanzo hesitated at the entrance. He sat on the bed, his eyes smouldering and beautiful in the soft orange light. “Let me help you forget your _dignity_ for a little while.”_ _

__Despite the needling, Hanzo was very tempted. Genji didn’t need to undress to be alluring, and the full force of his gaze felt like a palpable heat. All at once Hanzo made his decision, stepping forward and crawling his way onto the plush mattress. Stroking his long hair, Genji said, “There you go.”_ _

__Then, in a smooth motion that reminded Hanzo of skilled swordsmen sparring, Genji had flipped Hanzo onto his back. The air pushed out of him in a rush, so that he was left staring in surprise when Genji straddled his chest. “You look very nice like this,” Genji purred. The tone had the same effect as before, and Hanzo’s dick twitched in his pants._ _

__Undoing the button and fly on his own pants, Genji slid his cock free. Several things hit Hanzo at once; that Genji was slightly larger than he was, that Genji didn’t wear underwear, and that Genji had _dyed his pubic hair_ to match his hair. Something in Hanzo wanted to make a derisive comment about the last detail, but the rest of him was fixated on the smell, musky sweat from dancing and a salty arousal he wanted to taste._ _

__“Open your mouth,” Genji said, but the order was unnecessary. Hanzo’s lips were already parted, tongue slipping out to lick them. It was all he could do not to let his tongue loll, but he didn’t want to seem _too_ eager. Despite his efforts, however, heated satisfaction was plain on Genji’s face._ _

__Awkward as the angle was, Hanzo still managed to slip his mouth around the head of Genji’s cock when he scooted forward. Sighing, Genji allowed his head to tilt back. One hand braced against Hanzo’s stomach, the other stroking his own, Genji began rolling his hips in a motion not unlike what he’d done at the club._ _

__“Oh, you’re _good_ at this,” Genji said breathlessly when Hanzo hollowed his cheeks. “You look so stuck up, but you really just wanna be put in your place, don’t you?” Since he couldn’t protest with a dick in his mouth, Hanzo pretended to himself that the sound he made at those words was _not_ a moan._ _

__Salty precome occasionally met Hanzo’s tongue, the small spurts filling his mouth with heady flavor. He’d only done this a handful of times, mostly because he loved it. It was horribly shameful, for the heir of the Shimada to want someone to fuck his mouth, but every time he looked up to see Genji watching through lidded eyes he wanted to whimper._ _

__On one particularly hard buck he _did_ whimper, and then Genji was pulling back. Hanzo’s mouth stayed open even when Genji’s dick wasn’t in it, his lips slightly swollen and red. Drool had dripped down his chin again, but it was his own this time. “Fuck, you’re going to make me come if you do that cutie.”_ _

__Brows furrowing at the pet name, Hanzo took a breath to ask why that would be a _bad_ thing, but Genji held a finger to his lips before he could speak. “Do you wanna fuck me,” he said, low and dangerous. “Or do you want me to fuck _you._ ”_ _

___Oh. _“Th-the second one,” Hanzo said, mortified that he’d stuttered. Except that he wanted it, so badly, remembering the only other time he’d been fucked, the way it felt to be speared on a cock and crying out and to come without a hand on him.__ _ _

____Apparently, that wasn’t enough for Genji. He gripped Hanzo’s tank top, easily maneuvering it over his head, but when the black fabric no longer obscured his vision Hanzo found him staring down at Hanzo’s muscles hungrily. “Say it,” he said, voice soft but somehow unyielding._ _ _ _

____Pride made the words stick in Hanzo’s throat. But then Genji’s hand slipped down, pressed on Hanzo’s cock through his jeans, and the pressure wasn’t nearly what he wanted. In that moment he wasn’t the heir to anything, he simply writhed and _wanted._ “Please,” he said, an octave higher than normal. “I want, you, ah,” Genji refused to stop shifting his hand, and Hanzo’s hips rocked into it without his permission. “To, h-have me.”_ _ _ _

____It didn’t seem to matter that Hanzo hadn’t been able to say exactly what he’d wanted to; Genji still undid his pants in a smooth motion that had Hanzo flushing even deeper. Genji was practiced, didn’t even need to look down to pull Hanzo’s cock free from his boxer briefs and jack it gently. Unfortunately, he _did_ need to crawl off of Hanzo’s body to get his pants off of him, but that was a technicality._ _ _ _

____As soon as Genji had him out of his clothes, he grabbed a tube of lube and a condom from beside the bed. The reminder that they were in a love hotel, complete with complimentary sex supplies, had Hanzo making a face that left Genji chuckling. “Oh, you’ll thank me in the morning,” said Genji._ _ _ _

____A slick finger pressed against him, cutting off whatever rebuttal he’d been half-thinking up. Hanzo touched himself there often enough that his body knew how to relax, and it had Genji opening his mouth, satisfaction on his face. “You like this a lot, don’t you cutie?”_ _ _ _

____“I-I,” Hanzo fisted his hands in the bed, feeling like he needed to hang onto something. “I am not cute!” He managed, though the squeak at the end wasn’t particularly compelling._ _ _ _

____“Sure you aren’t,” Genji said, cheery and teasing. Then he thrust his finger in hard, up to his last knuckle all at once. Hanzo’s spine arched, until his abs pressed against Genji’s chest where he leaned over him. Having someone else’s fingers inside him was so much better than his own, the angle deeper and the movements smoother._ _ _ _

____Rather than take his time preparing Hanzo, Genji seemed satisfied with moving quickly, trusting that Hanzo knew how to take it. With two fingers scissoring him open, Hanzo was thankful, because he knew exactly what he could get like with pleasure soothing away his shame. He would _beg,_ if Genji wanted him to. Dignity was far away by now._ _ _ _

____Before long Hanzo could tell that he was loose enough, obscene squishing noises coming from between his legs as Genji worked lube inside him. He wished that he could say the sounds weren’t making everything more arousing, but that would be a lie. Genji barely seemed focused on his hand at all, instead staring at Hanzo’s face hungrily, as if he could drink up every hitched breath and quiet, desperate sound._ _ _ _

____Pulling his fingers out and rolling on the condom quickly, Genji gripped Hanzo’s legs and maneuvered them over his shoulders. The mesh on the back of Hanzo’s knees felt weird, almost ticklish, but it was hard to laugh when a slick hand was stroking his chest. “If it gets to be too much, tell me,” said Genji, surprisingly serious._ _ _ _

____Hanzo bit back a moan as Genji’s cock brushed against his hole. He already felt puffy with friction, and desperate for more, and it was rather hard to focus on words when he was so overwhelmed. Still, he managed a slightly frantic, _”Yes,”_ and was rewarded for his trouble when Genji rocked his hips._ _ _ _

____There was a world of difference between a cock and fingers. And Genji’s fingers had already been on the edge of too good. It might have been too much, but it was the kind of too much that made Hanzo want _more,_ so he met Genji’s blazing eyes and allowed himself to melt under the feeling._ _ _ _

____With steady rocking motions, Genji pressed deeper and deeper. The slow drag as he pulled out was pleasurable, but Hanzo craved the feeling of Genji’s cock reaching deeper than his fingers could, the feeling of fullness that seemed to sing through his belly. And there was always more, Genji’s movements so incremental and measured that every time Hanzo thought he’d bottomed out turned out to be a false alarm. It was better than swiftly being filled, Hanzo realized, and that seemed impossible because the quick push inside him had felt _amazing.__ _ _ _

____Finally, _finally,_ Hanzo felt Genji settle against him, thighs against his ass and balls bright points of heat. He could feel that his face was slack, his tongue lolling the way it had wanted to earlier. He knew what he looked like, when he got like this, knew the glaze in his eyes and the wanton effect, so he pointedly avoided looking at the mirrored ceiling and focused on Genji instead._ _ _ _

____That turned out to be a _very_ good idea. With his unusual, golden eyes and dyed hair, Genji looked like something out of a fairy tale. Hanzo barely had a moment to wonder if there was such a thing as a yokai which seduced men before Genji was pulling back, presumably to thrust in again._ _ _ _

____Without his permission, Hanzo’s body seemed to decide that was precisely _not_ what it wanted. “Ah,” Genji moaned, surprised. “You feel like you’re sucking me in.”_ _ _ _

____Covering his face, Hanzo tried very hard not to think about that. Not about the breathy tone, the way it edged near a growl at the end. Not about the fact that it felt so _good_ to have Genji inside him that he didn’t want to give a single inch up._ _ _ _

____Luckily Genji didn’t let the sensation keep him still. Instead he started rocking his hips more firmly, groaning each time he thrust back in. His hands rubbed up and down Hanzo’s sides, a proprietary touch that fanned the flames in his gut instead of soothing them. “Yeah, there you go,” he said, and it truly was a _growl._ “Just let me take care of you.”_ _ _ _

____Each of Hanzo’s inhales was a hiccuping thing, overwhelmed, overwhelming. It had been too long, he’d allowed himself to get too drunk, he wanted more than was possibly safe. Impulsively, he reached up with trembling hands and threaded his fingers through Genji’s hair. He didn’t realize that it left his face bare for Genji to see until those eyes locked with his and wouldn’t let him look away._ _ _ _

____Minutes passed with Genji’s thrusts growing more erratic, less measured, as though even all of his experience couldn’t stop him from succumbing to youthful eagerness when he was close to coming. Which was good, because if he’d stayed perfectly composed and had managed to brush Hanzo’s prostate on each thrust, Hanzo would’ve come already. As it was, the occasional bursts of pleasure weren’t quite enough to tip him over the edge._ _ _ _

____Right as it seemed like Genji could hold out no longer, he leaned down, nearly folding Hanzo in half. Biting at Hanzo’s collarbone, he slid one hand down Hanzo’s side to between his legs. Hanzo was still crying out at the pleasure-pain of teeth in his skin when one finger pressed in beside Genji’s cock and it felt like stars exploded behind his eyelids._ _ _ _

____As good as it felt to have Genji’s cock twitching inside him, heat intensifying as the condom filled with his come, Hanzo couldn’t focus on it very well. His own orgasm was too much, really and truly, the kind of thing that he’d have begged Genji to stop if he could find words. It was like the bite on his collarbone a hundred times over, his body throbbing like a single huge bruise, but it was _good.__ _ _ _

____By the time he came down from it, aftershocks nothing more than tingling pulses through his skin, Genji was already using wet wipes to mop up the mess on his stomach and thighs. He grinned at Hanzo when he felt his gaze on him. “Well, that was awesome.”_ _ _ _

____If Hanzo had been even slightly less dazed, he would have glared at Genji for that. Apparently whatever expression he managed to muster was lackluster, though, because Genji only snorted as he pulled the condom off and tied the open end. He tossed it off the bed casually then sprawled beside Hanzo, sweat glistening on his skin._ _ _ _

____At least he’d taken off the ridiculous mesh shirt. It made Hanzo turning into him, pressing their chests together and silently denying that they were snuggling a lot easier. Genji toyed with his long locks absently, and it wasn’t long before Hanzo’s eyelids were heavy with sleep instead of pleasure._ _ _ _

______ _ _

***

When he awoke it was to pre-dawn light barely breaking through the edges of the tightly drawn shudders on the windows. Genji slept beside him, snoring lightly, and Hanzo tried not to think about _why_ while he dressed himself. He’d need to call Takeshi, to get a ride out of the hotel, but even the thought made his stomach turn.

Practice had made Hanzo rather adept at pretending at though things were normal. He had to be, when he was the heir to what amounted to a criminal empire. So he pretended that his head pounding was normal, and that the way he wanted to limp was normal, and that the fluffy green hair he avoided looking at was normal.

Takeshi, too, was used to pretending. He also seemed to sense that Hanzo was in no mood for teasing, so although he sounded amused for all of one sentence of the phone call, he didn’t tease or needle. He simply did his job, driving to the parking lot despite the early hour and silently opening the door for Hanzo.

Sometimes, the two of them were almost friends. But today was not a day for friendship, especially with the realization that Hanzo had a meeting with his father at lunch. He was only glad that it was later in the day, so that he’d have plenty of time to shower and change (there had been a shower at the hotel, but he hadn’t wanted to risk waking Genji).

***

Lunch with his father was always a formal affair. Hanzo wore a nicer than usual yukata, only barely talking himself out of a kimono. He arrived so early that the food was still being placed, but the servants were used to his nervousness, and so they left him alone to fret while they prepared.

Walking into the room with an air of dignity that Hanzo admired, the elder Shimada took his seat at the head of the table. To his surprise, Hanzo’s mother sat beside his father, her long, straight hair pooling on the ground as she sank down gracefully. He rarely ever saw her, and for most of his childhood she’d been a beautiful myth more than a caretaker.

“Good afternoon, Father,” Hanzo said respectfully. There was a particular kind of blankness that his father could inspire in him, which allowed him to mask his emotions more effectively than any tips the other yakuza had given him. His father would never see the unsightly hero-worship in his eyes, when Hanzo donned that mask.

“Son,” his father said. He picked up his ochoko, drank the small portion of sake, and then set it back down. Here was a man Hanzo couldn’t imagine drinking whiskey in a club, whether he owned it or not. “You are aware that, as the heir to my organization, you may find yourself in dangerous situations.”

“Yes,” said Hanzo, moving his rice around with his chopsticks without actually eating it. His stomach was cold, but he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. The hangover still pounded in his head.

After taking a small bite of his own rice, Father continued. “As such, your mother and I thought it prudent to take precautions when you were young.” Mother nodded, silently eating her own meal.

 _Your mother and I_ meant _your mother,_ Hanzo knew. It was so unexpected that he found himself staring at her, almost missing what his father next said. “It would have been a naive to be without a contingency plan. So, when she became pregnant a second time, we notified no one.”

Stomach going from cold to frigid, Hanzo inclined his head. So she _hadn’t_ tried to keep him safe, she’d simply had an extra child. Which meant that he was a _brother,_ but he couldn’t quite process the reality of that when so much of him was focused on putting on a show for his father.

“When you were young, we sought to keep you separate, as children are unable to defend themselves. But you are both old enough now that you are capable of fighting off attackers as necessary. So your mother and I would like you to meet your brother, Genji Shimada.”

From a sliding door behind his father, Genji walked out. He was in traditional dress, unlike the night before, but his hair seemed even more brightly green under the clear lighting of the room. Suddenly, Hanzo’s mind seemed entirely too quiet.

Evidently, Genji didn’t have the same ability that Hanzo did to simply _pretend._ When his eyes fell on Hanzo he stumbled, nearly falling face-first into the table. Mother stood abruptly, hands fluttering over him as she quietly asked if he was alright.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Genji said, sounding slightly strangled. Hanzo wanted so badly to look away, but his gaze was glued in place, as if he was staring at a car crash, and every muscle in his body felt locked in a vice.

“It is nice to meet you, Genji,” Hanzo said, when Genji finally calmed enough to sit without making a fool of himself. Mother kept giving him worried glances, which only made the moment more surreal; she never looked visibly worried, _never._

“Nice to meet you too,” Genji said, picking at his food about as enthusiastically as Hanzo was. Meals with Father were never exactly fun, but this one turned out to be more of a disaster than most. For once, Hanzo found that the thought of a servant betraying them and poisoning him wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so, the idea for this fic hit me in the face like a bullet train and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so here we are! I actually have like... approximately five chapters' worth of ideas for this, but I'm not sure how much interest there is for it. Also, I'm working rather hard on my other AU multichap fic, so I don't want to risk dividing attentions if there aren't a fair number of people who want it. So for now, this goes in the oneshots series, despite being particularly long!
> 
> Friendly reminder that I take requests btw, so if you don't necessarily want more of this AU but you do want more Hanzo/Genji, feel free to tell me! I love and cherish every comment, no joke, even if it's just a couple of words.
> 
> (Edit: Okay, y'all convinced me, more is on its way!)


	2. Thoughtless Speeches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk for a minute here guys. Skip this note if you don’t want any kind of spoilers (even vague ones) but I would be remiss if I didn’t include the warning now, before we go into this fic any deeper. Most of my angst fic is the sort of thing that leads up to a happy ending after a sort of catharsis process. This fic will not. I’m sure there’s someone out there who wants to write Shimadacest in a healthy, happy relationship, but honestly I’m not that person.
> 
> Incest is a hard topic to handle, and the Shimadas have enough issues that I'm really not interested in romanticizing them. Not saying that this will be as much of an angst fest as say, Black Water (in fact there will be no graphic violence against Hanzo or Genji and no rape/noncon), but we all know how this fic will end. If you like happy Shimadacest then more power to you, but that isn't my cup of tea, sorry. The first chapter is still readable as a standalone though, so if you wanna stop there that's fine by me!!

Genji was actively antagonizing him. Antagonizing seemed too light a word, but tormenting wasn’t quite right. It was almost like Genji was trying to catch up on years of sibling annoyances in the space of a week, except that he was doing it by inviting what felt like every single one of the young, eligible servants _into his bed._

At least Hanzo couldn’t maintain any kind of illusion about their night together having been special for Genji, when he behaved like that. And if it was just another night for Genji, then Hanzo could pretend that it didn’t matter to him, either. It wasn’t like he’d been a virgin beforehand; he knew that, with enough time, he could find a way to pretend he’d never seen Genji’s face flushed from sex.

If only he could _stop seeing Genji’s face flushed from sex._ His little brother made out in the quiet corners of gardens, in bathrooms, in storage closets that Hanzo would walk by and hear _giggling_ from. It disgusted him, it really did, because it was one thing to disrespect Hanzo’s space, but to disrespect their _father’s…_

It disgusted him. Hanzo insisted it, to Takeshi when he pulled him aside and asked if he was okay. He insisted it to the one maid who looked him right in the eye after she was three hours late to pick up the laundry. She stared at him like it was a challenge, daring him to say something about her sex-mussed hair, so he did. _It’s disgusting._

He insisted it when he was hard in his clothes, biting the meat of his own hand. Willing his feet to take him as far as possible from the noises he heard coming from Genji’s room. Of course, the one time Genji actually used his room Hanzo was trapped listening, hearing the way his brother’s voice lowered in register when he was turned on, hearing the hoarseness that made him think of deepthroating.

Hanzo disgusted himself.

Mother and Father only made the situation worse, though it wasn’t through any fault of theirs. They were only exceptionally good at behaving as though Genji had always been part of the family, seamlessly integrating him into meals and, when he bothered to show up, training. It was what they were meant to do, given that they’d been a family all along. It was how things should have been.

Except that Hanzo couldn’t do it. He tried, so hard that he wanted to cry, but the most he was ever able to do was put on a stoic face for his father. He couldn’t even pretend that it was for his mother’s sake in the slightest. She was so warm with Genji, smiled more around him than Hanzo had seen in the past two years. It ached in a way that, oddly, made Hanzo want to rebel.

Of course, Hanzo didn’t act on that wish. He wasn’t some bratty teenager, doing as he pleased and ignoring his parents. He’d never been that selfish, he was certain. Instead, Genji seemed to have the corner on the rebellion in the family.

So when Hanzo saw Genji in the middle of one of the gardens, shoving his hand down a girl’s throat and up her skirt, he felt justified in barking, “What are you doing?” The girl yelped and jerked away from Genji, then stared at Hanzo with wide, surprised eyes. At least she wasn’t a servant.

“Fooling around,” Genji said. But he sounded defensive, and that quickly morphed into anger when he tried to tug the girl back to him and she ran off. “Airi!” He called, though she didn’t slow down at all. Turning to face Hanzo again, Genji growled, “What are _you_ doing?”

“You are outside!” Hanzo gestured broadly, indicating the manicured trees and lovely stone paths around them. Genji had been lounging on a bench with the girl, but now he stood ramrod straight, too close to Hanzo. “This is not a place for ‘fooling around.’ It is one thing in your own rooms, but--”

“It’s none of your business who I fuck,” Genji said, crass and challenging. “And it’s really not your business where I do it.”

“It is my business,” replied Hanzo, voice raising. “When you endanger our family’s reputation with your-- your _behaviour._ ” They were nearly shouting in each other's faces, but it felt good, better than trying to be the mature big brother.

“Oh, like you didn’t _endanger_ it when we--” Hanzo smacked Genji across the face before he could finish the sentence. His brother was left staring in shock, red rising to his cheek. It wouldn’t bruise, but it smarted.

Taking a deep breath, Hanzo said evenly, “We will never speak of that.” Disbelief crossed Genji’s face, but before he could say anything Hanzo cut him off again. “It was a mistake on my part, I acknowledge that. But there is no way to repair it besides keeping it as secret as possible.”

Without waiting for a response, Hanzo spun on his heel and marched out. He didn’t want to hear anything Genji had to say, half because everything Genji said seemed designed to rile him up. The other half had to do with the way Genji had looked after he’d slapped him, but Hanzo was determinedly not remembering that.

***

The next day, Hanzo saw Father strike Genji for the first time. He backhanded him across the same cheek Hanzo had smacked, and he felt vindictively pleased about it. Genji had been treating his katana remarkably stupidly, risking cutting his own fingers, so he deserved the sharp reminder.

Pleasure quickly turned sour when Mother rushed from where she’d been embroidering in the shade into the open training area. Her fluting voice was so clearly concerned that Hanzo could hear it clearly ten feet away. With a quick request to his father, he retreated to the shooting range, where his mother’s voice couldn’t find him.

Unfortunately, Genji found him easily. He grabbed a bow and quiver, but it became clear that it was only a pretence when he stepped up to the place beside Hanzo. He didn’t speak for a short while, but Genji’s mouth seemed as restless as the rest of him was, so it wasn’t long before he was saying, “Does father do that often?”

“No,” Hanzo answered, bemused. “Not unless you deserve it.” He didn’t pause to speak, but kept nocking arrows smoothly and easily. Years of practice left him confident that even a full scale battle wouldn’t be able to distract him from his target, which was the point.

Watching Hanzo carefully, Genji glanced around them. No one was nearby; their father had left with Mother, and the tutors had been done nearly an hour before. “What’s he like?” Genji asked, low like it was a secret. “Father?”

“Intelligent,” said Hanzo. “He does very little without good reason. He simply does not offer much… softness. Not to anyone other than Mother.”

Genji nodded, but he still looked troubled. Wanting to change the subject, Hanzo opened his mouth and promptly regretted it. “What is Mother like,” he said.

Telegraphing his surprise with a slack jaw and wide eyes, Genji stood like an idiot for a moment before pulling himself together to answer. “You knew her, growing up,” he wrinkled his nose, as if he was doubting himself even as he spoke. “It’s not like me and Father, right?”

His next arrow went wide, and Hanzo clenched his teeth. “I knew her, but she is less reserved with you,” he said. Without Father nearby the coldness felt far away, and frustration was plainer in his voice than he’d like. “I find myself wondering if she truly was so kind, your whole childhood.”

“Man, you talk like a pompous ass,” Genji muttered. Hanzo actually missed the target entirely, then looked at Genji with something like outrage. Before the insult could truly sink in, however, Genji was continuing. “I can tell you some stories about her, if you’d like. She visited nearly every day, and yeah, she was... soft. Warm. Nice, whatever.”

“Thank you,” Hanzo said. He hadn’t meant for the gratitude in his voice to sound so raw, but Genji heard it anyway, perceptive golden eyes flashing as he squinted at Hanzo’s expression. He didn’t comment on it, though, instead returning to his own archery practice. For every hundred arrows fired in the range, only one could be loosed in a fight, Hanzo had learned. It was nice to see Genji show some semblance of discipline in his training.

Once they were both done with archery, Hanzo lowered his bow and started on his way back to his rooms. He’d thought that Genji would split off then, but instead he followed, uncharacteristically quiet. It was companionable, though. The change of pace from the teasing was pleasant, and Hanzo found himself smiling at his brother when he reached his rooms. It was small, but he knew Genji would notice it anyway.

“Wanna hang out with me, after dinner?” Genji blurted suddenly. Hanzo blinked in surprise, but nodded. That was what brothers did, wasn’t it? Spent time together, bonding over whatever it is that boys near Hanzo’s age were supposed to bond over. But that made him think of girls, which made him think of other things, so he hoped Genji would show some shreds of tact and not bring it up.

After a parting, “Great, seeya then,” Genji ran off. Half an hour later, when he was finishing showering off the sweat from their practice, Hanzo realized that he’d had an entire conversation with Genji without thinking of sex even once. At least, without thinking of sex with Genji. It boded well for their bonding time later in the day.

Dinner was as awkward an affair as it had been every day since Genji came. Father glared when Genji arrived late, but Mother distracted him from giving the lecture he clearly wanted to. Hanzo, punctual and perfectly formal as always, looked mostly at his plate and the walls behind his father, when he was addressed and expected to pay attention. He didn’t look at Genji or Mother, and his gaze glanced over the servants in the background, tuning them out.

Afterwards, however, it was as though a switch had been flipped. Gone was the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness in his jaw. When Genji caught him at the gate of the estate and smiled at him, it felt natural to smile back. “Did you have anywhere in mind for ‘hanging out’?” Hanzo said easily.

“The arcade,” Genji answered immediately. “I’ve already got the high scores on like, half of the machines. It’s terrible.” Hanzo frowned, confused, but Genji explained himself rather quickly. “Do you seriously never play any of them? You’ve lived here for forever, you should be an expert.”

“I haven’t found the time,” Hanzo said carefully. He didn’t want to insult Genji’s choice of activity, especially when it seemed so wholesome and _normal,_ but video games had never been his favorite.

Still, the smile didn’t leave his face when Genji directed him to the first game, one that Hanzo didn’t remember ever seeing before, much less playing. Predictably, the first round went to Genji, his pixelated fighter easily overwhelming Hanzo’s in a reversal of their usual sparring matches. The second was also Genji’s victory. As was the third. By the fourth, Hanzo was annoyed and no longer smiling.

On the other hand, Genji seemed like his smile had only grown. It was so impossibly wide, Hanzo thought it might split his cheeks. He’d deserve it, for the way he was laughing at Hanzo. “Man, you suck,” Genji chortled. “Why don’t you use any combos?”

“I am trying,” Hanzo grumbled. For all that he could work with delicate weapons and fire an arrow with deadly accuracy, the stupid buttons on the game seemed to elude him. Every time he looked down to check that he was inputting the correct controls, he lost track of what was happening on the screen, but every time he looked up he seemed to forget which order to press the buttons in.

“Here, let me--” Genji started, but he was interrupted by a _squeal_ from behind him. Short red hair filled Hanzo’s vision as a tiny girl barreled towards them. He didn’t recognize her, but she seemed around Genji’s age.

“Genji,” she crooned, drawing out the second syllable of his name. Her roots showed a bare quarter inch of black, Hanzo noticed. It was a strange thing to pick out, but he felt frozen to the ground, unable to look away. “I haven’t seen you in forever! Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

Wrapping his arms around her, Genji spun her around. His laugh was only a little strained, when it answered hers. “I’ve been here and there, Mimi. I told you that my father will be taking up more of my time, now.”

“Yeah, but still…” Mimi pouted, but the expression melted off her face when she peered up at him. “Is that a bruise?”

“Ah,” Genji touched his cheekbone where Father had backhanded him lightly. “Yep, guess so.” He grinned sheepishly, and she shook her head.

“Honestly, you’re helpless! You need a nice, sweet girl to take care of you, don’t you? You know, we could go to--”

As if she’d broken the curse that had kept him still, Hanzo felt his feet jolt into motion with Mimi’s words. He turned, marching out of the arcade, stride purposeful and nothing at all like running away. It wasn’t even a retreat. He was just giving Genji his space, to flirt with the girl who he’d probably fucked before, and since he’d smiled at her out of something other than familial obligation they were probably friends too. She might have even been his girlfriend.

 _My chest does not ache,_ Hanzo insisted to himself. _I am angry because Genji beat me so many times. It is annoying that he is so promiscuous, on top of being unbecoming of a Shimada. I should have stayed and told him off, but I was already in a bad mood because of the game. He does not want his big brother watching over his shoulder while a girl propositions him anyway, I am sure._

Just about the only thing Hanzo was sure of was that his chest _ached._

“Hey!” Genji called behind him. He didn’t slow or turn, not even when Genji yelled “Hanzo!” It filled his mouth with a sour taste, to be running away like a child throwing a tantrum, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Woah, slow down,” Genji said, catching up to him faster than he’d have liked (if Hanzo had his way, Genji would have never caught up at all). “Hey, what’s wrong? You and Mimi have a history, or something?”

“Do not be obtuse,” said Hanzo. To his horror, he sounded choked up, far more upset than he truly felt. Which was saying something, because he felt plenty upset.

Sighing heavily, Genji said, “Alright, here goes nothing.” In a lightning quick move he had Hanzo’s hand in his and was tugging them both into a small alley between skyscrapers. Nervousness shot through Hanzo, but it was unlikely anyone had seen them; Genji’s training showed when he moved that fast. “When you said we’re never gonna speak about it, did you mean never literally? Because if this is gonna be a problem we should kind of. You know, talk.”

Jaw clenching, Hanzo jerked as far from Genji as he could in the tight space. “It will not be a _problem,_ ” he said. “So long as you do not forget that Father has publically acknowledged you, now. You cannot be careless with the company you keep, when you are a Shimada.”

“I don’t need a _lecture._ I’m not a child,” Genji said. He sounded so surprisingly bitter about it that Hanzo knew he’d struck a nerve, but it was gone as quickly as it came, and suddenly Genji was all concern again. “I get it, okay. You don’t fool around as much as I do, so it must have been… awful. That I turned out to be…”

Hanzo thanked every god he could think of that Genji was struggling to find the right words, because he wanted Genji to _stop talking._ “I should not have ‘fooled around’ at all,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking as badly as it felt. “It was my fault, and I have already told you that I hold no grudge.”

Roughly combing his fingers through green hair, Genji shook his head. “Yeah, see, that’s a problem. You’re taking the responsibility like I wasn’t a consenting adult. And if you’ll remember, I kinda took charge. This is definitely my fault as much as it’s yours.”

“I am the older brother,” argued Hanzo. “I am meant to set a good example for you. Getting drunk and-- and doing _that_ was not a good example.”

“You didn’t even know you were an older brother,” Genji said. All of Hanzo’s arguments died on his tongue, and he could only stare dumbly while Genji continued. “You’re upset because you had a nice time and now the memory’s ruined, right? I get it.”

“I did not--” Hanzo began, but he bit his tongue when Genji gave him a skeptical look. They both knew it would be a lie. He _did_ have a nice time. His little brother had fucked him, and had called him _cutie,_ and he had _enjoyed it._ He wanted to do it again.

And that was the root of it. He wanted it again, deep down in his gut, the same place that had dictated he only ever sleep with one person before Genji. Hanzo was hardwired for _relationships,_ not hookups. He wanted Genji and every time he saw his face he remembered it, and the desire wasn’t even tempered by the knowledge that _Genji was his little brother._

“You do not ‘get it.’” Hanzo sounded resigned enough that Genji didn’t argue, only cocked his head and waited for an explanation. Hanzo gave none, however, simply stepping around Genji and exiting the alley. This time, no voice called after him. That made him no less of a coward.


	3. Hopeful Mistake

Hanzo spent the next week avoiding Genji studiously. He only ever saw his brother when there were tutors or Mother and Father around, so Genji couldn’t try to talk to him. He could see the looks Genji gave him, the way his jaw clenched like he had to put effort into not speaking, but there were no more confrontations.

Still, Hanzo noticed that some things changed. Genji certainly didn’t stop having one night stands, but he no longer took them in the gardens. He seemed to be making an effort to utilize his room more often which was… if not comforting, at least convenient. It meant that Hanzo could avoid him more easily, so avoid him he did.

It wasn’t until Friday morning that Hanzo realized something was wrong. Not just inside his own head, but with Genji as well. His brother hadn’t shown up for breakfast or tutoring, and while lateness was common, absence was cause for worry. Hanzo walked to his room purposefully, not allowing any urgency to speed up his stride.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Hanzo rapped his knuckles against the frame of Genji’s door. Then he slid it open, not allowing himself a moment of hesitation. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find behind the door, but it wasn’t Genji scrambling to his feet, _naked._

His room looked like a typhoon had torn through it. Hanzo’s eyes flitted from detail to detail, refusing to rest on anything for fear of him seeing Genji like _that._ Again. So instead he noticed the pillows strewn about, _multiple_ people sprawling over them. He didn’t count, he didn’t think he _could_ his heart was in his throat and his mind wouldn’t stop moving at a hundred miles an hour.

“Sorry, sorry,” Genji said, stepping over limbs and heads. “What time is it?” He seemed to be addressing Hanzo, despite not meeting his eyes.

“Twelve thirty,” Hanzo said, mouth dry. Genji reached the doorway and leaned against it heavily, forcing Hanzo to take a step back and stare concertedly at the wall. He was not going to see his brother naked any more clearly than he had to. Not when even that brief, dim glimpse had made his stomach twinge with lust. He _wasn’t._

“Shit, sorry,” Genji croaked. Hanzo had thought his voice was rough from sleep, but the hoarseness in those two meager syllables was so bad that he was looking at his brother before he could stop himself.

Thankfully, concern outweighed the lust, when he took in his brother’s exhausted appearance. It helped that he kept his eyes firmly on Genji’s face, not daring to let them glance down, but the way Genji’s bloodshot eyes squinted could mean only one thing. He was _very_ hungover, and the bags under his eyes were so dark they couldn’t possibly be new. How long had he been having trouble sleeping?

Drawing himself to his full height and squaring his shoulders, Hanzo strode straight past Genji and into the room. “Alright,” he said firmly, no room for argument in his voice. “All of you out. Now!”

The last shout had Genji flinching, but it also had the intended effect of getting the people on the floor to scramble to their feet, wide eyed and mostly nude. Hanzo looked up at the ceiling and counted in his head, trying to ignore the nudity that threatened to make him blush. It took a herculean effort, but he somehow managed.

Everyone was dressed and on their way in record time. A muscular man shouting them awake and then standing menacingly had turned out to be a very good motivator. Genji had even dressed himself by the time they were all gone, though he put on jeans and a t-shirt instead of the formalwear he was meant to wear in the estate. Sitting heavily on his futon, Genji hung his head, still not looking his brother in the eye.

“What is wrong,” Hanzo asked, when Genji didn’t speak first as he usually did. Starting, Genji looked up at Hanzo, then glanced away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hedged, painfully transparent. “I just got a little out of control at the party yesterday. That’s all.”

With a heavy sigh, Hanzo sat beside Genji. He was close enough to feel his body heat, but he didn’t lean against him. He wasn’t sure if Genji would want the physical contact, or personal space, but the desire to comfort was strong. “You do not usually regret it, when you get out of control. You regret this.” Genji’s head flopping back into his hands was enough confirmation for Hanzo. “If I can help you with what is bothering you, I will, Brother.”

 _Brother._ It still felt strange on his tongue, and the word made Genji flinch. Guilt flooded through Hanzo’s gut. How stupid of him, to think that reminding Genji they were brothers would _help._ Offering a shoulder to cry on seemed a very brotherly thing to do, but then again, what did Hanzo know about brothers? He felt as though he was getting the script all wrong.

“I regret losing control with you,” Genji said, quietly. And that was too much; if seeing Hanzo was a problem then he would _leave._ But when he stood Genji caught his hand, stared at it as though it were a poisonous snake, but didn’t let go. “Not… because it’s a problem for you. Because it’s a problem for _me._ ”

Blinking in surprise, Hanzo tried to puzzle through Genji’s words. But it was hard when he was still standing, still wanting to get away so badly. Genji had to know Hanzo still wanted him. Was it a trick? A joke? A sick game Genji had decided to play?

“How do you mean?” Hanzo asked, sounding the words out. Faint tremors moved through his body, and he hoped Genji was too hungover to notice.

“I can’t--” Genji bit his own tongue, so hard that Hanzo thought he saw a bright flash of red. “I can’t forget it. I’m used to fucking my friends, and then seeing them the next day and it. It’s always _fine,_ just a nice memory for the two of us.” Then Genji pinned Hanzo under a gaze that looked _wounded,_ and said, “It brings people closer, y’know? It doesn’t hurt them.”

“You did not hurt me,” said Hanzo softly. He pulled his hand away from Genji, but didn’t move to leave again. “I am allowing the event to rule my emotions, but it is not as though you took advantage of me. We were both drunk, that night.”

Genji looked as though he wanted to argue, but then he shook his head sharply. “Fine. I didn’t hurt you. But you’re still _hurting._ I’m not blind, I can tell when someone wants…”

“I do not,” Hanzo said, suddenly frantic. He took an involuntary step backwards, stumbling over a pillow. “I do not want that, not again. Once was already a mistake, Genji!” He scraped his hands through his hair, a rough movement that did nothing to sooth him.

“You’re a shit liar,” said Genji. He sounded hoarse, but also challenging, as if daring Hanzo to disagree again. “And I-- I mean, you were good, don’t get me wrong.” Hanzo could feel his cheeks flush, but the blood rushed right back out when Genji whispered, furtive and guilty, “But I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

A rock seemed to have lodged itself in his windpipe. Hanzo cleared his throat, but it made no difference. “Are you saying,” he said, low and quiet as Genji had been. “That you want to do it again?”

Shoulders going tight and defensive, Genji took a deep breath. “You’re something else. I don’t usually want the same person twice, but when I do I’m not used to holding myself back, or practicing restraint, whatever you wanna call it. And don’t say you don’t want it too.”

Panic made Hanzo’s voice shoot up half an octave, but his voice was still too quiet to carry far. “Genji, we _can’t._ It has nothing to do with our wants or wishes, that is _forbidden._ If Father could hear you--”

“Don’t bring him up now,” Genji said harshly. Hanzo fell silent, mouth slightly open, but Genji just kept talking. “Listen, I hear you. It’s-- I don’t know what I’m doing here, okay? I don’t know any more than you. But I do know that if I asked if I could have an orgy in the estate, you would’ve said no, and yet.”

“That is different,” Hanzo spat. But he couldn’t think of a convincing argument as to _why_ it was different, and he hated that. Genji was shaking his head, something faintly relieved on his face, as though he’d finally gotten whatever had driven him to drink so much off his chest.

While Hanzo was still focussed on his own thoughts, Genji stood. He walked forward until his chest was nearly touching Hanzo’s then caught his brother’s waist in his hands when Hanzo tried to step back. “I quit,” Genji said, strangely cheery. “I give up! You want me to stop, say the word. But don’t say it unless you mean it.”

He kissed Hanzo like he expected to be shoved away at any moment. Wasting no time, he pressed his body to Hanzo’s, ran his hands up and down Hanzo’s sides and licked his lips. When Hanzo’s mouth opened in a gasp he thrust his tongue in, delving it deep and curling it, dexterous and experienced in a way Hanzo couldn’t hope to match.

And Hanzo kissed back. He hated himself for it, tasted it like bitterness on the back of his tongue, even worse than the stale alcohol in Genji’s mouth. But he kissed back tentative and sweet in a way that had Genji growling an approving sound, tongue fucking into Hanzo’s mouth and making his knees weak. Hanzo felt _ruined._

“Stop,” Hanzo moaned into Genji’s lips. His tone made it plain that he wanted it, he _did,_ but he still said the words. “Stop, please, I-- not now.”

“Then _when_?” Genji said. Biting Hanzo’s lips delayed his answer, forced him to think for at least a moment.

Running hadn’t worked. Pretending hadn’t worked at _all._ So Hanzo couldn’t say _never,_ not even as a lie, because Genji was right about that, too. “Tomorrow,” Hanzo said breathlessly. “Saturday, Father is leaving and Mother always goes out that d-day.”

On the last word, Genji wrapped his arms around Hanzo in a parody of a hug and grabbed two handfuls of his ass. “ _Good,_ ” Genji said. Everything about this was a terrible idea. Hanzo could already feel himself regretting it, but he was more weak willed than he’d hoped.

***

With Father and Mother gone, no guests to speak of, and Genji more quiet than usual, the estate felt like a ghost town. It would come back alive when Mother got back that night, some glamorous and demure friend on her arm and shopping bags dangling, but for the moment Hanzo felt almost like he had the whole place to himself.

Given the circumstances, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He could think too clearly in the silence, could doubt himself and try to convince himself that what he was planning was _wrong._ The problem was, he knew it was wrong. He just didn’t care enough to end it.

An hour to go until lunch, and Hanzo felt ready to jump out of his skin. It was just about the least sexy feeling he could think of, his muscles twitching with tension and stomach roiling in nervous nausea. He regretted only waiting a day, instead of taking a week or a month to get his head on straight. He regretted stopping Genji from having him right on the floor of his disgusting room.

Dutifully, Hanzo kept himself sitting at his desk, reading through the reports and emails Father had forwarded him. But his left leg was bouncing incessantly, and he couldn’t find a way to calm himself down. Working on something Father had tasked him with helped, certainly, but it was a pale imitation of the cold calm he could assume when Father was actually there.

Despite himself, Hanzo was still glad that Father was gone. Because no matter how this went, whether he was strong enough to reject Genji or not (whether Genji rejected him, after realizing Hanzo wasn’t as good as he remembered), he didn’t want to have to look at Father’s face for at least a day afterwards. No matter what Genji said, Father did love them, and he wanted them to get along; Hanzo knew it would break Father’s heart to know what they’d done, more than it would infuriate him.

Eventually Hanzo gave up on working entirely. He signed off, then shut his computer down entirely. He even turned the camera around for good measure; he knew his father wouldn’t surveil him without permission, but his nerves refused to settle.

Making his way to the dining room, Hanzo tried to turn his brain off. He kept picturing Genji’s shirtless body, the image coming unbidden to his mind over and over. A sick well of self-hatred was festering inside him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Genji was muscled like a bird, absolutely no excess on him, not muscle or fat. Beside him, Hanzo felt clumsy for the first time in his life.

When he sat down, the food had only just been brought out. Tea and rice and grilled mackerel. Hardly anything at all, but the night before, when Hanzo had dictated to the cook what would be made, he had been certain that he wouldn’t be able to stomach anything heavier. Now, he felt sure he’d made the right decision.

For once, Genji was on time for the meal. He wasn’t even a minute late, which made Hanzo briefly proud. Then he looked at Genji’s face and the pride washed out of him in a heartbeat. His hands felt clammy and cold, his hands shook, his dull brown eyes couldn’t look away from the golden gaze that bored into him.

Genji broke the stare, looking down at his meal and frowning. Then he pulled out, of all things, two bottles of gatorade. Sliding one across the table at Hanzo, Genji said casually, “You should drink this. It’ll help keep your energy up.”

At first, Hanzo didn’t get it. He cracked the lid open and picked up the bottle, eyeing the lime-green liquid dubiously, but then he noticed Genji watching him and realized what he’d meant. _Oh._ Hanzo couldn’t seem to drink fast enough after that, as long as drinking gave him an excuse not to meet his brother’s eyes.

They were quiet for the rest of the meal, Hanzo unable to find any words for Genji that he could say in the dining room, with servants nearby. The lack of a hearty meal meant that they were done eating quickly, though, and then Genji was standing and holding his hand out to Hanzo to help him to his feet. Hanzo ignored it, standing unassisted, and Genji rolled his eyes, but it was tentative. 

Neither of them was sure how to proceed. Hanzo made the decision to sidestep his brother and start off towards his room, steps solid and misleadingly sure against the wooden hallway. With Genji following him, they couldn’t see each other’s faces, which was all Hanzo wanted at the moment.

All too soon, they arrived at their destination. Hanzo closed the door with finality behind Genji, locking it immediately. But he couldn’t turn back around to face the room, no matter what he told himself. _This is ridiculous. You asked for this. You did._

“Right,” Genji said firmly. “Okay, I’ve got a hunch, but tell me if you don’t like this, okay?” Hanzo opened his mouth to ask _Don’t like what_ when a band of fabric was looped over his head from behind.

Wrapping the cloth swiftly over Hanzo’s eyes twice, Genji tied a tight knot and then paused. He slowly settled his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders as Hanzo lifted a hand to touch the blindfold. To his surprise, it did help. Light snuck in through a small gap at the bottom, but if Hanzo closed his eyes it would all be dark, and Genji wouldn’t know. “Good?” Genji asked simply, rubbing his hands up and down Hanzo’s shoulder blades.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, surprised by how breathless he sounded already. Genji’s hands on his shoulders guided him to turn around, walk around the low table to his bed. He sat down, then tensed when he felt Genji’s hands on the ties of his clothing.

“This ends as soon as you say it does,” Genji said quietly. “Anija.” It was the first time he’d called Hanzo anything like _brother_ without sarcasm dripping from his words, and it made Hanzo want to cry.

Pulling off Hanzo’s kyudo-gi with gentle, practiced fingers, Genji didn’t bother to keep his touches chaste. He allowed his fingers to linger when he exposed Hanzo’s chest, brushing over dusky nipples and sighing when they hardened under his hands. Hanzo swallowed hard, each touch more intense with his sense of sight cut off.

He moved on to Hanzo’s hakama, continuing to trail faint touches down his thighs as he went. It wasn’t until the fabric started to fall away that Hanzo caught his hand and said in a strained voice, “Can you undress too?” And then, quieter, “Please.”

Hand tensing into a fist, Genji took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, pulling back and leaving Hanzo to listen to the rustle of fabric. Something in Hanzo settled, and he could feel blood beginning to fill his cock. That Genji had stayed dressed last time, and then answered the door naked after an orgy, had bothered Hanzo. And he hadn’t even realized it until the ache was already being soothed away by the sound of Genji’s clothes hitting the floor.

Both of them sat on the bed then, side by side. Naked. Hanzo shifted his legs, his hakama falling completely to his feet, and resisted the urge to cover himself. He knew Genji was staring at him, but he couldn’t see it, and-- he wondered how Genji had known. Had he blindfolded someone before?

“You’re gorgeous,” Genji said softly. Two slim hands cupped Hanzo’s cheeks, directing him into a slow kiss. If his mouth hadn’t been occupied, Hanzo would’ve protested.

A tiny, insidious voice in the back of his head said, _You can’t see yourself. Maybe you are gorgeous, right now._ But Hanzo shuddered at the thought, because of all the people to make him think that, it shouldn’t be his _brother._ Still, he kissed back, yielding to Genji the way he always did.

Those sparrow’s hands were sliding down his spine, now. First in a smooth glide of palms, then scraping back up with the nails. Hanzo arched into it, his mouth opening on a cry that Genji kissed him through as if he wanted to eat it up.

Between his legs, the ache was growing noticeable. Hanzo shifted his weight back and forth until a hand on his thigh stopped him. Genji guided him until he went up on his knees on the bed, their mouths hardly ever breaking apart. “Straddle my lap,” Genji said, lust making his voice lower than usual.

Goosebumps rose the fine hair on Hanzo’s arms as he obeyed. Genji’s hands came down to grope his ass again, firmly kneading the muscle, and it upset Hanzo’s balance in a way that forced him to press against Genji for balance. Suddenly, Genji’s hard cock was pressed to his abs, hot as a brand. Hanzo was once again glad he couldn’t see, because it felt like it was pressing a permanent mark into his flesh, and he wasn’t sure if seeing his unblemished skin would make it worse.

“G-Genji,” he stuttered out. Teeth bit into his shoulder, hard enough that whatever else Hanzo had been about to say died on his tongue. Genji’s hands were gone from his ass for a moment, reaching for something on the bed beside Genji, and then there was a pop and suddenly Hanzo felt like everything was moving entirely too fast.

 _Slow down_ , Hanzo wanted to say. But he didn’t want to make it sound like he was asking to savor it, because how could he? How _dare_ he? His brother was far from pure, true, it wasn’t as though Hanzo was sullying him truly, but it certainly felt like it when Genji’s hands returned, one petting his thigh soothingly while the other pressed slickly between his cheeks.

Then Genji’s spare hand left his thigh, pressing to his cheek once again, and Hanzo realized he’d been making fractious sounds, higher than he’d heard his voice since last time. He flushed impossibly darker, embarrassed even through the shame. “Love when you sing for me,” Genji said, hips twitching into Hanzo’s abs.

“S-sing?” Hanzo seemed to have lost the ability to speak coherently beyond one word at a time. “I, ah, w-what do you, _mmh._ ” Genji kissed him again, plundering his mouth, licking between Hanzo’s teeth and bottom lip, tickling the roof of his mouth. He kissed like he was trying to wring sounds out of him, and it was working.

Right as Genji pressed his first finger in, he released Hanzo’s mouth, allowing a loud cry to fall clearly from his throat. Hanzo tried to bring his hands up to cover his own mouth, afraid that someone would hear, but Genji caught his hands one at a time and brought them to his hair. Hanzo clung to the short, bristly locks, pulling on Genji’s hair when he bit his shoulder again. It hurt, but by all the gods did it feel good.

Pushing a second finger in, Genji began stretching Hanzo properly. He seemed to have realized that the night before Hanzo had-- had-- he couldn’t even _think_ it, hell, and thankfully Genji didn’t say anything about it. But whether or not he knew, he wasn’t being gentle or slow. Which was probably for the best, because no matter how overwhelmed Hanzo felt now, he was sure it would be worse if he allowed reality to sink in.

“I’m gonna fill you up, cutie,” Genji whispered directly into Hanzo’s ear. His eyes snapped open behind the blindfold, staring blindly forward as a third finger spread him wide. “You liked that last time, didn’t you?”

Whimpering loudly, Hanzo’s hands slid from Genji’s hair to clutch at his shoulders. They felt broader, stronger than usual. Muscles stood out in stark hills and valleys as Hanzo’s hands scrambled, uncoordinated, against his bare skin. “Yeah, thought so,” growled Genji.

Instead of a bird, Genji reminded Hanzo of a dragon when he pulled his fingers out and positioned Hanzo over his cock. He was powerful, suddenly, a predator that had pinned Hanzo, and he couldn’t escape. _That is why I am fucking my little brother,_ he pretended. _Because I cannot escape, Genji will devour me alive if I try._

“Careful,” Genji murmured, when Hanzo spread his legs and began to sink onto his cock. Hanzo wanted to laugh at the irony, but he was all out of breath. He was moaning, he realized, making noise without noticing. It was humiliating.

 _Love when you sing for me,_ Hanzo remembered. His heart hurt. He quickly lost focus on it, though, because Genji’s cock was splitting him open. It wasn’t fair that Genji was better endowed than him, they were _brothers_ , but he loved it. He would let Genji take him nearly dry, he realized with a whine.

Hanzo’s hips were cradled in Genji’s hands, controlling the rate of his descent, which was the only reason Hanzo didn’t simply spear himself on the hard dick slowly fucking him open. Nosing at Genji’s jaw, Hanzo tried to beg with his body in a way he couldn’t out loud. He arched into Genji, scratched down his back, licked the side of his neck lightly.

Under Hanzo’s attentions Genji shivered, his hips twitching and driving him in another few centimeters. “Where’d all that shyness go?” Genji said, breathy and surprised. But it didn’t sound at all like he was complaining, so Hanzo didn’t stop.

Once Genji was fully seated inside him, Hanzo had to still for a moment. The angle was so different, and a dull pain in the base of Hanzo’s spine throbbed in time with his cock. “Genji,” Hanzo moaned, trembling and overwhelmed and _wanting._

“I know,” Genji said, rolling his hips in a smooth motion. Hanzo gave a broken cry, and Genji did it again. And again. And again. “I know.”

At that moment, it felt like Genji _did_ know. Not how it felt to have a cock shoved so deep inside him that he felt like a hard thrust would make him choke on it, maybe, but the rest of it. The way Hanzo’s chest stung where it pressed to Genji’s. The way he felt like he had been standing on the edge of a cliff, and he’d not been paying enough attention, and now he was falling and he’d never know who pushed him off.

Tears were leaking from Hanzo’s eyes, falling on Genji’s sweat-damp collarbone. They rocked together, the motion almost like rising and falling tides, but Hanzo was having trouble focusing on the metaphor when Genji brushed his prostate. Hanzo’s room was private, servants knew better than to come too close when he locked the door, but he clenched his teeth around the sounds he was making anyway.

Then Genji bucked his hips and Hanzo _screamed_ straight through his locked jaw. The intensity was right back, Genji’s self-control shattered to the floor as he fucked Hanzo hard and fast and unrelenting. Hanzo bounced on his lap, trying to match his motions, but they were always slightly out of sync and it felt _good,_ meant that Hanzo was always a little more full than Genji intended.

They couldn’t last long. Hanzo knew it in his gut, the pleasure plateauing faster than normal, higher than normal, a bright blue blaze in his mind. There was an urgency, something that had spurred Genji on in the beginning and had finally caught Hanzo up in it. Like floodwaters, like a forest fire gone out of control. No ocean rocked the way they were, except in a hurricane.

Stiffening, Genji moved to pull out of Hanzo. He hadn’t used a condom this time, likely because he knew they were both clean (of course they were, a Shimada would not fall ill in such an asinine way). But Hanzo wanted it, every piece, he wanted the warm rush and Genji’s stuttered, “N-no, wait,” sounding so much more broken than he usually did. And when Hanzo got exactly what he wanted, come warming him from the inside, he moaned and followed Genji right over the edge.

Neither of them spoke, after that. Not for a long time, though they collapsed on Hanzo’s bed and lay together, side by side. They wouldn’t fall asleep like this, couldn’t when Mother was coming back in a matter of hours, but it was… companionable. Genji took Hanzo's blindfold off, then his golden gaze was running up and down Hanzo’s body, always falling back on his older brother’s eyes when he reached the top. His gaze looked nearly molten, melted with pleasure.

Slowly steadying his breathing, Hanzo watched his brother right back. It was strange, that they’d just done what they’d done, and he wasn’t feeling crushed by the guilt. Perhaps he’d allowed himself to wallow a bit too much, that morning, but as the afternoon sun slanted in Hanzo found he didn’t have it in him to continue to worry. He hated himself for what he’d done. That was a fact of life. But he didn’t hate Genji.

Afterglow lingered, kept his muscles loose when Genji finally sat up and helped clean him nominally. They dressed, tissues thrown in the trash and clothing tacky on sticky skin. Hanzo couldn’t wait to get in the bath, but he didn’t complain when Genji delayed him with a lingering kiss.

Their peace only lasted until one of the maids caught them on the way to the bath and delivered the news.

Father was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're rapidly approaching the end everyone, so please don't kill me. Chapter 5 will be more of an epilogue than anything else, and 4 will be... kinda crazy. I hope you like it anyway, though ;o;


	4. Broken Mourning

The intruders were fast and deadly, but they were also stupid. Everyone in Hanamura knew that if you saw the brothers together, you ran. Most of the time you ran even if you saw Genji alone, because Hanzo could kill you before you ever got a chance to lay eyes on him.

These men, however, seemed to have missed the memo. They charged straight at Genji, eyes widening comically when he deflected the first of their bullets. Angry shouting came through the comm line as Hanzo barked orders to their guards, never missing a step with his katana.

They fought like a well-oiled machine. In only a few months of knowing each other, the brothers had learned each other’s strengths and weaknesses intimately. Hanzo knew to keep his brother from taking a fight too lightly; Genji knew to keep his brother from hesitating and over thinking when split second decisions were just necessary. Apart, each was dangerous. Together, they were nothing short of terrifying.

“On your left!” Hanzo shouted at Genji, both in his ear and beside him. Without questioning Genji wheeled and landed three throwing stars in the intruder’s body, two protruding from his neck and one uselessly embedded in body armor. Didn’t matter, the man was dead already.

“Thank you, Hanzo!” Genji called back. A wide grin split his face as he watched Hanzo whirl and twist gracefully, katana a slash of silver in his hands. Hanzo could fight long distance as well as Genji could, perhaps better with the bow, but he preferred the katana.

Neither of them worried much about the other, when they fought together. They could glide blades bare inches from each other’s skin without risking a scratch, familiarity lending them something that felt dangerously like immortality.

Hanzo knew that Genji could die any moment in these fights. Afterwards, it always frightened him, brought him shaking to Genji’s door. And then Genji would wrap him in his arms and close the door and kiss him.

There was more than one thing that made the brothers frightening to fight. One of them, undoubtedly, was the way that every person who met them knew how they’d react if one of them did die. There would be nowhere safe on Earth for the hapless fool who tore them apart.

***

As the battle wound down, Hanzo and Genji prowled before the men they’d captured alive. The grunts readily pointed out the leader of the operation, loyalty not nearly enough to keep their mouths shut in the face of torture. Guards dragged all but one of their new prisoners off into a small building off the side of the main house, leaving one woman behind.

“Who are you working for?” Hanzo asked her, dispassionately taking in the blood dripping down her chin from her broken nose. There was no need for him to growl or intimidate her further, at the moment. She had seen what he could do.

Eyes narrowing, she said, “You don’t think my employer actually gave a name, do you?” The flat way she spoke made Hanzo think she wasn’t lying; she had an air of someone who felt she had nothing left to lose.

Since that was a dead end, Hanzo tried a different tact. “Who sold you the information about our defences?” Because someone must have. They’d been far too informed for coincidence. If Hanzo and Genji had been out, their home would be raided rubble by now.

“No one,” she said. A grisly grin split her face, blood crusted in her teeth-- Hanzo hoped she’d bitten her own tongue, because if she’d bitten one of his guards the wound would be a pain to keep clean. “I ran reconnaissance myself.”

From Hanzo’s right, Genji made a shocked noise. “Aiko? Aiko Gotou?” Hanzo closed his eyes, breathed deeply through his nose.

“Got it in one,” she said, affecting a Kansai accent. Hanzo flicked his fingers at the few remaining bodyguards who remained near him and Genji, signaling to them to take her and put her with the others, and then turned on his heels. He couldn’t look at her face or Genji’s, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the door as he marched to it and slammed it open with a bit more force than he’d intended.

Despite Hanzo and Genji’s… accord, Genji seemed to require more attentions than Hanzo could give him. More than Hanzo wanted to give him, in truth, when every stolen touch was still drenched in guilt. So Genji still sought out partners for casual nights together, though he was much more cautious about it now than he had been in the disastrous time when he’d first come to live with Hanzo.

Apparently, however, he wasn’t cautious enough. “Hanzo,” said Genji, rushing to keep up with his brother as they walked to their baths. Hanzo could feel the sweat on his skin like a film of filth. “Hanzo, I’m sorry, are you okay--”

“I do not require medical attention,” Hanzo said, far more calm than he truly felt. “Neither do you, correct?”

“I-- yeah, I’m good.” Genji raked a hand through his hair, sweat from the battle causing it to stick straight up where he disturbed it. Hanzo had to resist the urge to smooth it back down for him.

They reached the baths unbothered by servants. There was a larger bathing area that Hanzo was certain would be filling with exhausted, filthy guards soon, but the one they were in was small and reserved for the family’s (and esteemed guests’) use. Still, there was enough space that they could both shower without Hanzo having to look at Genji much. He only glanced up long enough to make sure that he wasn’t using Genji’s shampoo instead of his own; he’d learned the hard way that the color-safe substance, whatever it was, left his hair feeling greasy and distinctly unclean.

For a moment after the last of the rust-brown water swirled down the drain, Hanzo considered actually, properly bathing. Genji was already sinking into the steaming water, spreading his legs and arms out in the water. It was so easy to imagine his muscles relaxing in the wet heat, but then again it was also easy to imagine Hanzo’s arms around Genji’s shoulders, his lips on Genji’s cheek.

“Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to add to the report?” Hanzo asked. There was a desperate edge to it, something he knew Genji would hear but hoped he wouldn’t comment on. 

One golden eye cracked open, glancing at Hanzo, but Genji didn’t get up from the bath. “Nope,” he said, after what felt like an eternity of consideration. His eye closed again.

Hanzo trudged away, feet feeling heavy with exhaustion. The fight hadn’t lasted long, but stress and more weighed on his shoulders, until he was so tired he didn’t want to move. Still, he had to report to the clan’s elders, the panel who had taken over running parts of their empire when his father fell ill.

Even though they were extended family, Hanzo had never known any of them particularly well outside of business, and they made him nervous. He told himself that that was the only reason why, when he opened the door and expected to see at most two of them waiting, the sight of all five made his heart skip a beat. Inclining his head politely, he sat seiza on the cushion they’d left empty for him. His posture screamed of his tension, but none of them eyed it critically.

Instead, there was sympathy in their old, wrinkled faces. Hanzo noticed one of his cousins, a few years younger than he and Genji, sitting off to the side. Though he wasn’t at the main table, the fact that he was there at all was worrying. A moment later, Hanzo learned the reason both for his presence and for the heavy dread in the room.

“Your father has passed,” said Hanzo’s great-grandfather. Age had made him a hard man, and outliving both his son and his grandson seemed to have drained the last of the joy out of him. There was no pretending that the furrows in his face were smile lines.

Dutifully, Hanzo bent his head in grief. They’d known it was coming for months, now. That didn’t make it any easier to hear, and Hanzo wished Genji had been beside him for it. Then Hanzo realized Genji _should_ have been, and something sinister prickled up his spine.

“The funeral is planned for three days from now,” Hanzo’s great-grandfather continued. “We would like you to assist in… something, before that date.”

Foreboding as the pause was, Hanzo couldn’t very well refuse. He nodded, and had the oddest sensation of cold calm overcoming him. Like icewater, or the stoicness Father had taught him to take deep inside himself. It figured, that Father’s death would teach Hanzo to find that emotionless place on his own. Like this, he knew he could fulfill any task the elders asked of him.

“We have been informed that this latest attack was facilitated by your brother’s actions.” There was no need to nod at that, and though Hanzo’s inhale hitched slightly he still felt detached. “You must correct his course. The path he is on is not one suitable for a Shimada.”

Clearing his throat, Hanzo’s uncle brought everyone’s attention to him. “As he is now, your brother is a threat to our family. If he will not listen to reason, then he will have to be dealt with as all threats are.”

Behind him, Hanzo’s cousin’s eyes glittered. Objectively, Hanzo knew that this was not the most sensible path. He told himself it _couldn’t_ be the most sensible path. “I will speak to him,” Hanzo said evenly. “However, Genji’s indiscretion may have led to a breach in our security, but he has not acted against the family.” There was something sour in Hanzo’s mouth, and he swallowed hard to get rid of the taste. “I see no need to eliminate him.”

“Your brother’s actions have resulted in numerous breaches,” Uncle said. There was no murmur of agreement from the table, but with the way they exchanged looks, Hanzo realized they’d already discussed this. “He will be given an opportunity to change his lifestyle, of course, but we cannot let him ruin us, Hanzo. You’ve worked too hard to allow that, haven’t you.”

“Yes,” Hanzo agreed, mouth moving before he realized what he was saying. It felt right to do as the elders said, though, the same way it had felt right to do as Father said.

Curtly nodding, Great-grandfather rested his long, twisted fingers on the table in front of him. “If he refuses, we will follow our traditions,” he said slowly. “Unless you order otherwise, you will be the one to duel him, Hanzo.”

“Yes,” Hanzo said again. They might have asked him anything, at the moment, and he would’ve said yes. Father was dead. Somewhere deep inside him, the ice he’d drawn around himself cracked.

“You are dismissed,” said Uncle. Mechanically, Hanzo stood and walked out, catching his cousin’s eyes as he did. He wondered if perhaps his cousin was aiming to use Genji to accuse Hanzo of being too soft to take over. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

When Hanzo left the room, he realized they’d never referred to Genji by name.

In a daze, he wandered to Genji’s room. He hadn’t made the report he’d meant to make, had he? Then again, they’d spoken as though someone else had already informed them of what took place. In fact, it was entirely possible that they’d watched the fight using security cameras; they’d likely been waiting for the fighting to die down so that they could arrive at the estate and deliver the bad news.

Without his having to knock, Genji seemed to sense that he was there. The door slid open just wide enough that Genji could reach out and pull Hanzo through, a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hanzo,” Genji said, soft and comforting. But then he took in the look on Hanzo’s face, stunned instead of wrecked, and worry slid over his features. “What happened?”

“Father,” Hanzo managed. The rest of the words couldn’t seem to find their way to his mouth, but they didn’t need to. Genji’s face crumpled, and then he locked Hanzo in a tight embrace that drove the air from his lungs.

Burying his face in his little brother’s hair, Hanzo felt the ice inside him crack again. It sounded like a gunshot in his mind, but Genji didn’t so much as flinch. It felt impossible, for that sensation to be silent in the real world. “Fuck,” Genji muttered against Hanzo’s shoulder. “Fuck, is Mother okay?”

“I did not see her,” Hanzo said, only registering it after Genji asked. What kind of son was he, that his first thought hadn’t been for her? “I suppose she is still with him. It cannot have been long.”

Tight as his throat felt, Hanzo was shocked that he didn’t choke on his words. But they came out even and almost dead, and he was very glad when Genji didn’t pull away to look at his face. “Fuck, can tonight get any better?” Genji said, muffled and bitter.

Genji had asked rhetorically, but Hanzo almost wanted to answer. Because he hadn’t delivered all the bad news yet, and the last part really couldn’t wait. But it was also the news Hanzo most wanted to keep secret, the news that might finally shatter the ice inside him and leave him having to face what felt like a building tsunami. So he kept his mouth shut, and kissed the top of Genji’s head with all the reverence he could manage.

No matter how much Hanzo hated himself, he loved Genji. At the beginning of their… whatever they were, he hadn’t. He hadn’t even loved Genji as a brother, but as the months wore on and he learned Genji in a way he’d never learned anyone before, it became abundantly obvious what was happening. When Hanzo woke up one morning, cold without Genji’s body heat under the covers with him, and he thought, _I love him,_ it wasn’t a surprise.

It still hurt, though, and Hanzo was struck by sudden inspiration. He wasn’t sure it would work, but he still grabbed Genji by his upper arms and dragged him to his messy futon, the two of them sitting on it without ever letting go of one another. Genji combed his fingers through Hanzo’s long locks softly as Hanzo took a deep breath. Where to begin.

“Before you,” Hanzo said slowly, feeling the way Genji tensed slightly. In an attempt to reassure him, Hanzo splayed his hands over Genji’s shoulder blades, but he didn’t stop talking. “I had only ever slept with one other person. Did you know?”

Swallowing hard, Genji rested his forehead against Hanzo’s. “I guessed it was something like that, yeah,” said Genji. His hands played with the short hairs at Hanzo’s nape, sending tingling feelings down his spine.

“We were together for several months,” Hanzo continued. He took a deep breath, hoping that he could hold onto his calm for only a little longer. “But he was a bodyguard of mine. There was an assassination attempt, and he could not-- he lost control, and his fear for my wellbeing nearly led to his death.”

Deathly quiet fell when Hanzo hesitated. Genji didn’t even seem to be breathing, though Hanzo could feel the rise and fall of his back. Maybe it was the cacophony threatening in Hanzo’s head, like a rush of water as a wave submerged him at the beach, that muffled the sounds of the real world. “I had him sent away, and I haven’t seen him since. If he had been caught making the mistake by anyone other than myself, the consequences would have been much more severe.”

“The elders want you to convince me to stop fooling around, don’t they? Hanzo, listen, we’re different people; what’s healthy for me isn’t healthy for you. I get that. But I’m being safe and careful, now. It’s not like-- not like I was.”

“Men died tonight,” Hanzo said. “Because you were not safe enough.” It wasn’t the reason why the elders wanted Genji to calm down. Hell, it wasn’t even something Hanzo could truly bring himself to care about.

But _Genji_ cared about that kind of thing, and sure enough, he flinched at Hanzo’s words. “I made a mistake,” he said quietly. “I’m not gonna change who I am for a bunch of old prudes, Hanzo. I know it’s more risky than how you live, but it’s not like I’m giving away confidential info. This kinda leak could’ve come from anyone.”

“Perhaps,” Hanzo said. “But not everyone is subject to the same scrutiny as you.” His fingertips were light on Genji’s cheeks, the touch barely tangible. “You are vulnerable, especially with Father--”

Choking, Hanzo found he couldn’t finish the sentence. Which was complete nonsense; he’d been able to discuss Father’s death before, in a sense. Somehow, though, discussing the _consequences_ felt different. A crack like a gunshot resounded in his head.

“How vulnerable am I?” Genji asked, wry and amused and not understanding in the least. “You’re my brother, and I’m a damn good fighter. They can scrutinize me all they want, it’s not gonna scare me into changing.”

“They will kill you.”

It was flat, cold like Hanzo had wanted to be. Genji’s smile froze on his face, and then melted into something horrible, horrified, disbelieving. “Hanzo, you wouldn’t let them do that. We’re not stupid, we’d see any assassins they send coming a mile away. Don’t think so little of our resources, we could get me out of the country if we needed to--”

“They will have _me_ kill you,” Hanzo clarified. Once again, his little brother seemed shocked for a moment. And then, each movement sending stabbing pains through Hanzo’s heart, he shook his head.

“Hanzo, they can’t _force_ you,” Genji said, hoarse with emotion. “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re going to be in charge of the family soon, they can’t just order you to do that. Hanzo. You _wouldn’t_ do that, I know you.”

Ice water pounded through Hanzo’s veins, and he thought, _you might not know me as well as you think._ But instead of voicing it, he said, “Do not force me to make the decision. Prove them wrong, Genji. Is it so hard to change?”

“Yes,” said Genji. He didn’t sound nearly as sure as he had, though, and Hanzo grasped onto the hope it gave him with a desperation that was shameful.

“Please,” Hanzo whispered. And then he surged upwards, pressing his lips to Genji’s. It was half persuasion and half desperation, the delayed fear from the battle finally catching up to him. Except that now the worry that he might lose Genji was no longer a vague, threatening thing.

Now it was sharp as a knife as Genji’s hands gripped Hanzo’s shoulders, and the words from before rang in his head. _We will follow our traditions._ “Okay,” Genji mumbled into the kiss, but it felt like he was saying _you won’t have to feel my blood on your hands._ “Okay.”

Nothing on earth could have separated them, after that. Hanzo panted around Genji’s lips, kissing clumsy and imperfect and drowning in the feeling. Too much had happened in only the last few hours. Hanzo knew he shouldn’t have been in Genji’s room so long, the risk too great when their family was so close by. But his guts felt frigid and Genji was so _warm._ So _alive._ There were many ways in which Hanzo felt trapped at the moment, he wanted to be free in at least this one way.

***

For just long enough that Hanzo began to hope, nothing went wrong. That wasn’t strictly accurate; things went wrong, cousins and uncles tried to go behind his back while his hold over the family was still weak, assassination attempts were fended off, but nothing _catastrophic_ happened. Power was shifting in Hanzo’s favor, inexorable as it was frustrating at times. And, most importantly, Genji seemed to be taking no liberties with the waitstaff.

He should have known it was too good to be true. He did know, if he was honest, but he’d expected the failure to come from somewhere else. After all, Mother was grieving, and Genji was rarely away from her. He couldn’t very well revert to his old habits, when he hardly let her out of his sights.

Yet he still found himself frozen outside of Genji’s room, the hallway dark and silent but for the quiet grunts and muffled moaning. Most of the family was gone for the night, having dispersed to their various responsibilities and retirements after the funeral, but one uncle was right down the hall. If he heard--

Before he could think through what he was doing, Hanzo turned on his heel. Then, taking a deep breath, he stomped back to Genji’s room, sure to make enough noise that Genji and whoever his partner was would easily hear. He counted to thirty then slid the door open, not knocking because he never knocked.

“Genji,” Hanzo said, cool but polite. His brother was sitting up on his futon in the dim room, no flustered sex partner in sight. “I was wondering if you have plans for tomorrow. It would behoove us if we could go over our holdings together once more, as I believe the circumstances may have changed.”

“Sure,” Genji said, easy and only a little breathless. “Sounds good. See you then.” His window was open.

“Right,” said Hanzo, closing the door and holding his own breath. The house felt far too still. Down the hall, his uncle’s room remained silent and still.

Thinking that they’d gotten away with it was even more foolish than thinking that nothing more would go wrong. Their meeting on their holdings, redundant as it would have been, never got a chance to happen. Hanzo’s uncle, a sly, wiry man named Yori who was usually not clever enough to be a threat, pulled him aside and showed him a security tape from the night before.

“Such a shame,” he said, sounding not the least bit genuine. “And after we all had our hopes up, too. I’ve already alerted the elders, but you know they won’t all be able to hike back here so soon. The vote will have to be over a call.” Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, Yori looked straight at Hanzo’s eyes. “Terribly unprofessional, but such is the way it goes.”

Unprofessional, and much faster than an in-person meeting would have been. Arguments swirled in Hanzo’s head, every reason this didn’t make sense, it was hasty and unfounded and clearly this person Genji had slept with didn’t know where their security was, they had gotten caught half-dressed on camera. None of them fell from his lips.

Instead, a glacier rose up in him, huge and overwhelming, and Hanzo felt his lips move without his consent. “Yes.” It felt right.

Still, Hanzo’s feet led him to Genji’s room, some instinct under the ice demanding that he warn his brother. Genji wasn’t there, of course, it wasn’t like he lived in his room, but he also wasn’t in the training grounds or the arcade. Worry seeped in like a streak of mud suspended in cold water.

An hour crawled by, agonizingly slow, as Hanzo searched. He eventually found his brother speaking to Yori’s bodyguard, hopping impatiently from foot to foot even as he kept his speech polite. “Yeah, that’s real interesting,” he said, referring to something the bodyguard had shown him with the throwing knives in his hands. “But I promised my brother I’d meet with him soon, so--”

“No need to search for me,” Hanzo said, trying for levity and only managing something mechanical. “Genji, if you would?”

Turning to him gratefully, Genji nodded at the bodyguard and then followed Hanzo’s long strides. Hanzo found himself wishing he was an omnic, with a face of metal and a voice of circuitry. The only way he seemed able to keep his countenance calm was through ruthlessly stomping out the emotions that threatened, but if he was inscrutable all the time then he’d be allowed to feel without risking everything. As it was, he felt hazy, like fog steaming upwards from frost.

Surprise passed over Genji’s youthful face for a moment when, instead of going to the meeting room, Hanzo led them to his bedroom. It was immediately replaced by suspicion when Hanzo locked the door behind them. “You said that, if need be, we could get you out of the country,” Hanzo said, still facing the door. He couldn’t bear his brother’s face, at the moment.

“Oh, hell,” Genji sounded about as pissed off as Hanzo had expected, but not nearly worried enough. “I’m not letting those assholes drive me from our home, Hanzo. Have you even tried to reason with them? I mean, punish me if you have to, but you know they’re going overboard because they’ve never liked me.”

“You were Father’s secret weapon,” Hanzo said softly. He was deflecting, he knew it, but how could he explain that there was no _reasoning with them_ to someone who hadn’t grown up in the yakuza’s world?

“Okay, they want blood,” a rustle was audible behind Hanzo, presumably Genji sitting down. “Will they take some good old fashioned beatings or some shit? C’mon Hanzo, it’s not like this is an all or nothing thing. They’ll compromise.”

Just the thought of his brother bleeding and broken but still _alive_ was enough to make Hanzo lean forward, bracing his forehead on the doorframe in a moment of embarrassing weakness. “They may accept my punishment in place of yours,” Hanzo admitted, though there was no hope in it. “And will perhaps allow fingers to be taken, in place of a life. It will make me much less dangerous, in battle.”

“Fingers,” Genji choked. “Hell, okay. We can do this, though.” Determination made his voice steel, and Hanzo wanted nothing more than to lean on that strength. “We’re not gonna run away.”

_And you are not going to die,_ Hanzo finished in his head. The glacier still felt overpowering, but it was so solid, so reliably _present,_ that he felt like he could lean on it. Borrow some of the coldness in a way that was useful to him. The council of elders would respect him more, if he seemed detached and calculating about the whole affair. It would have to be enough.

***

“Our decision is final,” said a wizened voice. “We gain nothing from continuing to discuss this. Goodbye.” The huge projection flickered to blackness, smaller images dying out around it.

All the air in the room seemed to have been sucked from it, gone out the door with Yori when he stalked, smirking, away. They weren’t even going to enforce the order. That was Hanzo’s job. Dazed, he looked down at his own hands, expecting to see crystalized fingertips. But no, they were soft and fleshy as before.

He shouldn’t have tried to reason with them. He shouldn’t have tried to reason with Genji, or he should have tried _harder._ Anything would have been better than what he’d done. It felt like an awkward half measure, _several_ awkward half measures. Hanzo felt like he was going to be sick, but his muscles didn’t seem capable of moving particularly well at the moment.

Some piece of him insisted that Genji could still be saved. Because they weren’t enforcing the issue, because if Genji could defeat him in a fair fight then, according to tradition, he would be in the right. But Genji wasn’t as good at fighting as he was, not when death was on the line, and enough people knew it that Hanzo couldn’t throw the match without being put under scrutiny himself.

Imagining himself dead barely a week after saving Genji left a slightly sour taste in his mouth. Then he imagined Takeshi dead, he imagined everything Father had worked so hard to build falling to fragmentation and infighting, and the sour taste turned bitter. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

There was a slim chance, however, that he could fake it. If he frightened Genji bad enough, fought seriously but allowed himself to fall prey to the emotions that would make him an unstable fighter, then there was a chance. Genji could fell him, instead, and then the Shimada clan would not be without a direct heir at all. Wasn’t that always Genji’s purpose? To replace Hanzo when he died?

True, Genji wasn’t as good a businessman as Hanzo was. He was young, and naive, and still required quite a bit of training. He was working from a deficit, even without Hanzo’s age advantage. But he was smarter than most people realized, and he had a kind of charisma that Hanzo could never hope to replicate. It was a chance. It was better than Genji dying.

With the flimsiest plan of his life set firmly in his mind, Hanzo set off to find Genji. This time it was remarkably easy. Genji waited exactly where he’d been told to, a nice restaurant owned by their family. He smiled wanly as Hanzo approached, not nearly as on guard as he should have been.

“How did it go?” Genji asked, strained but loving. Hanzo’s heart ached. “What’s the plan? I see you’ve still got all of your fingers.”

Drawing his sword was far easier than it should have been. Genji’s face contorted into something unreadable, but practice had made their movements instinctual. Swords sung out into the air, smooth as a dream. In Hanzo’s head, all he could hear was a _crack._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hgggggg please don't kill me. I've run headlong into writer's block and emotional issues, which is Hell, but I promise I'm finishing this thing come hell or high water. I love Genji and Hanzo, and they deserve their ending (actually they probably deserve a _happy_ ending, but I'm evil so).
> 
> Also this is definitely, definitely au. It's not canon compliant in the slightest, and I'm not trying to make it that way-- so yeah, in canon I'm absolutely certain that the events leading up to their confrontation were way different. My Hanzo has a lot more issues than young, canon Hanzo probably had. Same with my Genji, if we're being honest. So if it seems like I'm punching holes in my own plot, I promise there's a reason for it.


	5. Dragon's Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... here we are. This is officially my longest completed work (which might be a bit sad, but hey), and I'm actually rather proud of it. Hopefully everyone else likes it too, and to every reader-- this would have never happened without you. Thank you all so much, and I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing!
> 
> The paragraphs that are entirely italics are flashback, btw. I couldn't help but experiment with the last chapter, sorry guys :"") Also: spot the reference to one of my other OW fanfics, lol.

Springtime in Hanamura was as beautiful as always. Hanzo didn’t see it, less because of the darkness of night and more because he didn’t bother looking. He knew what he’d see. He knew every inch of the city, even though for the past several years he’d seen it grow and change in time lapse.

 _Genji’s sword hitting his, ringing out in the air, a desperate shout of “What are you_ doing? _” Hanzo’s mind felt like it had been punched full of holes, like when the glacier had shattered the shards had shredded through him. He could barely understand the words, but he understood that he had to fight._

The path he’d used to get into the estate last year was heavily guarded. Clearly, his family thought they were pinning down his movements. Which was several kinds of asinine, because not only could he find a different route through, but the random guards clearly weren’t enough to keep him out. Hanzo could easily see half a dozen ways to take them out.

_Fighting came as naturally as it ever did, duck here, roll there-- shuriken in his arm, no armor under his clothes, unprepared for the fight. Hanzo’s katana sliced away Genji’s white, button down shirt, revealing body armor underneath. Relief was so heady that Hanzo felt sick._

His first arrow hit the omnic in the chest, an electrical charge shorting the majority of his systems in seconds. But his memory banks, the things that kept him as alive as an omnic could be, would remain intact. It was a small mercy which Hanzo wouldn’t have thought to grant, only a decade ago. Now, it seemed natural to spare lives where he could.

_Beneath the frantic racing of his thoughts, the pain was a mere annoyance. It shouldn’t have been, though, should it have? It meant that Genji was improving, getting cuts in, even as he drove Hanzo out of the restaurant. Away from the civilians. Always so soft-hearted, possibly too much so to run a yakuza family. Hanzo’s arm hurt._

Under pressure, people had a tendency to make stupid mistakes which would have mortified them otherwise. Hanzo didn’t recognize the first three human guards he engaged, and of them only one demonstrated any level of competency. Of course, that didn’t stop Hanzo from taking him down almost immediately.

_Hanzo has seen Genji’s face express so many emotions. The delight when Hanzo bought him ramen from his favorite stall, disbelief when Hanzo beat him at video games, frustration when they went to a festival together and he couldn’t catch a goldfish for the life of him. He’d even seen Genji cry, when they’d watched one of the anime he never shut up about. Until now, however, he’d never seen Genji in pain. He hated it._

“Head of a dragon, tail of a snake,” Hanzo read. The calligraphy hanging above him never seemed to change, mocking him every time he visited. Still, he had to resign himself to this room, with the chipped blade it held.

 _It took Hanzo nearly ten minutes to figure out that Genji was avoiding targeting anything vital. It should have taken even less time, but Hanzo was still finding it hard to_ think. _By that point, they were in the street, empty except for the two of them. Hanzo vaguely thought that it would be nice if the police came to stop them, and then he remembered that he owned the police in Hanamura._

A metallic smell was wafting around the room, hot iron and blood. It was so subtle that another man would have missed it under the sweet incense he’d just lit. “You are not the first assassin sent to kill me,” Hanzo said, calm and grim. “And you will not be the last.”

_In an attempt to force Genji into action, Hanzo lashed out, sword thrusting forward and nearly stabbing straight through Genji’s throat. At the last possible second Genji bent backwards, his hands hitting the pavement behind him and feet coming up, catching Hanzo under the chin. Hanzo’s jaw slammed shut around his laboured breathing, his mouth filling with the coppery taste of his own blood._

“You are bold to come to Shimada castle, the den of your enemies,” said the assassin. He was a cyborg, most likely. The synthesized voice and inhumanly quiet movements may have belonged to an omnic, but Hanzo couldn’t hear the quiet, subtle whining that usually came from their processors.

_After that moment, Genji began frantically trying to get some distance between them. Hanzo didn’t let him, even abandoned his reach advantage to step well inside the range of Genji’s katana. Then a truck barreled past mere inches from his face._

This assassin was strangely… chatty. He kept talking, which Hanzo brushed off until he dodged the first arrow. And the second. Snarling, Hanzo tried to drown out his words, but as more arrows loosed and missed, he couldn’t help but hear. “You risk so much to honor someone you _murdered._ ”

_Jumping so lightly he seemed almost to fly, Genji sprung off of the truck, using it to get a half-dozen meters of space. Hanzo expected him to try to reason with him, he expected anything other than what came out of Genji’s mouth when he opened it. “Ryuujin no ken wo kurae!”_

With only token attacks, the assassin led Hanzo to the balcony, his body nothing more than a green blur when he exerted himself. He seemed to know exactly how each of Hanzo’s arrow’s would move before he let it go, and he would not. Shut. up.

 _Genji’s dragon was a beautiful, vicious thing. Hanzo could count the number of times he’d seen it on one hand. Hard light technology was hard to manipulate, and the dragons themselves were harder, the outdated tech and programming leaving them volatile. Genji couldn’t wield his at range. He’d have to charge towards Hanzo and hope that he could maintain the dragon while he closed the gap, which was_ careless. _He wasn’t taking this seriously, still._

Disbelief drew Hanzo’s eyes wide. The assassin had _cut his arrow in half._ He’d only ever seen that technique a handful of times before, and he’d been on the other side of the blade. Teaching Genji something his master had claimed was a myth. This cut was cleaner even than what he’d managed in his youth. But he couldn’t stay impressed for long when that was his technique. His and Genji’s. Fury boiled in his blood.

 _Dodging the first strike was as simple as a backwards step. Hanzo was too well trained to be felled by_ this, _and Genji knew it. His feet were sure and he knew these streets, there was no way he would fall to-- The ground seemed to simply fall out from beneath him. There had been a bottle lying in the road, and Hanzo laughed to think that he’d lose to a piece of trash._

“You dare to lecture me about honor?” Hanzo growled. This must be a new warfare of his Mother’s, a well-tailored torture specifically for him. Arm a stranger with his brother’s name and a head full of vitriol. “You are not worthy to _speak his name!”_

 _There was a moment where Hanzo considered lying there. Allowing Genji to cut him down like the fool he was. He_ wanted _it, with a hunger deep in his belly. But instincts weren’t so easily suppressed, and Hanzo’s eyes filled with green light as something inside him cried out._

_“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!”_

An eerie blue filled the room, twin dragons rising from Hanzo’s arm and following the unerring path of his arrow. He hated them with a passion that was wholly undeserved; it wasn’t their fault, they weren’t true AIs. But his hatred fell away as he heard familiar words, words he had never thought he would hear again.

 _If he’d had any plan, it would have been to simply push Genji’s dragon_ away _. It’s semi-physical form yielded easily enough to his more refined control, but Hanzo had been lying, staring at the bloody sky as the sun set, he hadn’t stopped to look at where Genji was. He should have. He should have. The earth beneath him shook in a hollow_ boom.

Hanzo fell to his knees, the memory of dragons like a cancer in his mind. He’d seen green, he was sure of it. A familiar hue that he, by all rights, shouldn’t have recognized. It had been so long, and he’d only seen it so briefly, but he’d relived that day so often that he knew he wasn’t mistaken. “Only a Shimada can control the dragons,” he said with downcast eyes. “Who _are_ you?”

 _He felt the explosion more than heard it, like a full body punch of heat. It took him entirely too long to process what had happened, dread clouding his mind as he scrambled to his feet. The dragons had heated up, not enough control over the specifics of the hard light, he should have been paying more attention, they’d brushed against something flammable._ Genji. _Hanzo’s eyes wheeled, trying to find his brother._ Where was he? _Hanzo choked on smoke, felt himself melting in the scorching fire._

Pressing the cold edge of his blade against Hanzo’s throat, the stranger stilled. It didn’t even sting, the pressure so light that even the razor edge didn’t cut through Hanzo’s flesh. “No,” the assassin said. “I will not grant you the death you wish for.” Oh, how it _ached._ “You still have a purpose in this life, brother.”

_Burning flesh. Hanzo pushed the thought out of his head, but he couldn’t shut his nose off, and as a bodyguard descended from seemingly nowhere to grab him around the arms Hanzo felt nearly delirious with it. Burning, burning, burning. “Hanzo, you’re burned, we have to get you to the hospital!”_

Burn scars striped the little skin Hanzo could see, now that the mask had been removed. But even with the eyebrows and eyelashes gone, the lips twisted and shiny and _wrong,_ Hanzo would always recognize those eyes. “Genji,” he breathed.

_They had been watching the whole match, determining that Hanzo would win. He passed out at some point, blood loss or smoke inhalation or raw heartache, but when he awoke that was his first thought. They had been watching. His family would have likely tried to help him win, if it had looked like he’d been about to lose. Had the truck been their doing? The explosion? No, he knew they wouldn’t have wanted to land him in the hospital._

“Real life is not like the stories our father told us,” Hanzo said, aiming the arrow. The stranger’s-- Genji’s-- feet were planted so firmly, he didn’t think he would be able to dodge this time. “You are a fool, for believing it so!”

_It was never meant to be Hanzo who survived. Never. He knew it when he was recovering and Mother never visited him. He knew it when other family members came, and none offered condolences. He knew it when he wasn’t invited to the funeral. He knew it when he was released, and the first thing he did was find Yori. He knew it when an arrow pierced his uncle’s head, and when he found he couldn’t bear to wield a sword again. Genji should have lived._

***

Overwatch was as illegal and organization as the Shimadas were, now. It didn’t bother Hanzo much; he knew as well as anyone that evil and good did not always have much to do with legality. The clues that Genji had left behind to guide him would have seemed sparse to anyone else, but to Hanzo they’d been plain. He knew his brother well, despite how little time they’d spent together.

Stars twinkled in the sky above him, and he considered waiting for morning. But he’d already waited too long, having arrived at sunset and then hesitated for reasons he didn’t want to think about. It must have been an hour already, but his stomach churned, nervousness aching in his gut.

Wrapped in his worries as he was, Hanzo didn’t notice the door opening, nor did he notice the man walking out of it until they collided. Boxes scattered to the ground, and Hanzo looked up to see a man near his age, with bushy brown hair and an unkempt beard. He was also wearing an outfit that somehow managed to look even more out of place than Hanzo’s.

“My apologies,” Hanzo said reflexively. He quickly bent to help retrieve the fallen boxes, but then found himself doing a double take. Was that a _gorilla_ beside the man?

“Are you Hanzo Shimada?” asked the gorilla. _The gorilla._ Hanzo tried to keep himself from gaping.

Handing the boxes he’d retrieved back to the brunet, Hanzo nodded. “Yes, it is nice to- to meet you.” He stumbled a bit over his words, but he figured it was understandable. “And you are?”

“Winston,” the gorilla said, holding out one of his immense hands for Hanzo to _shake._ To his credit, Hanzo’s hand didn’t tremble in the slightest. “Welcome to Overwatch, Hanzo.”

Returning Winston’s smile tentatively, Hanzo felt the hard ball of tension in his gut relax, just slightly. He could feel the years between he and Genji like a physical ache, but judging from the look of the two before him, they weren’t the only strange people here. If there was anywhere on earth where they could gain some semblance of companionship, Hanzo was willing to hope, at least a little, that they’d found it. And he hadn’t had hope in a long, long time, so that was enough for him.

**The day I met you  
I had already perished;  
You lent me my life.**


End file.
